“Yep. They don’t have any family on the team, just a lot of Sheet Cake pride.”
Every morning, I’ve given the Bobs a friendly wave and smile. So far, I have yet to elicit anything but scowls.
Today, I stopped to pick up donuts. “Morning, fellas,” I say, holding out the box. “I brought reinforcements.”
Am I trying to buy the Bobs’ affection with hot glazed?
Why, yes. Yes, I am.
Is it working? No. No, it is not.
The Bobs simply stare, and I set the box on the metal risers nearby before jogging down to the field. I’ve got plenty of days to keep wearing them down.
“Did you bring me one?” Chevy asks.
I hand him a paper bag filled with donut holes, still warm. In places, the white bag is almost transparent. “Of course. I’m not a barbarian.”
“Remains to be seen,” Chevy says around a mouthful of dough.
Not for the first time, the head coach is late. I’m not sure what Coach Bright’s deal is, but he seems less invested in the team than his cell phone. Sometimes in the middle of practice, he’ll take a call and head off the field. It’s the kind of behavior that won’t help him with job security, especially if the team keeps losing.
Chevy and I have fallen into a rhythm running warm-ups and drills. It’s not until we’re starting to scrimmage that Coach Bright emerges from the locker room. I notice the Bobs giving him the same dark looks they give me. I also notice that the top of the donut box is askew, and one of the guys is wiping his mouth. Score!
I turn my attention back to the players, clapping my hands. “Let’s go! Y’all act like you didn’t sleep last night. Pick it up and run the play again—this time like you’ve played football before!”
The guys scatter, and Chevy sidles up to me with a wink. “Speaking of no sleep—you don’t look like you got any last night.”
It’s true. I got almost none. Definitely not for the reasons Chevy’s smug grin seems to be implying. I keep my focus on the field.
“So, you had a good wedding night?” he presses.
Good is a relative term, but even on a sliding scale, my night was not good. Have you ever tried to sleep when the woman you love is just across the hallway? Even worse, in a house with walls so thin you can hear every movement? Lindy’s sighs were torture.
My consolation was that it sounded like she tossed and turned just as much. I can only hope it’s because she was thinking about me. To that end, I made sure to roll over a million times on what must be the squeakiest bed on the planet, sighing heavily each time.
When Lindy did finally settle to sleep, I loved hearing her soft, breathy sounds. They were a comfort to me. After so many years apart, so many years of thinking how I royally screwed this up, Lindy was right there. So close.
I’m living the dream! Well, almost the dream.
Lindy is my wife. Her rules don’t cover my thought life, and I’m going to think of her that way as many times as I can until it feels true.
My wife. My wife. My wife, wife, WIFE.
Chevy clears his throat. I can tell he’s still waiting for an answer, watching me with a sly smile. I take a sip of coffee and give him a hefty dose of side-eye, still trying to keep my attention on the field. A grunt seems like a better answer than confirming or denying anything. It’s not my preferred method of communication, but I’ve learned to speak grunt fluently from James.
The play breaks up just as Coach Bright finally decides to do his job. I step back as he takes over the last few minutes of practice. Chevy is still watching me.
“What?” I demand.